
Stone Town
Zanzibar

The lure of the Freddie Mercury Museum was just too strong to resist.

A rare shot of colour
For a long time, Zanzibar had been somewhere I’d wanted to open my eyes, look up to the skies and see.
Ever since blasting out "Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?" in fact. Admit it, we’ve all been there, done that!
Those words are, of course, utter, glorious nonsense. As Farrokh (Freddie) pretty much admitted.
Oh, and so is the museum supposedly in his honour. But I’m sure you didn’t need me to tell you that.
Ah! but that word Zanzibar. So evocative, so bohemian, so fragrant. I was in rhapsody.
Well, actually, I was in Stone Town. Two more evocative words to set the imagination racing.
The stones in question are coral. With them a warren of alleyways, palaces, bazaars, mosques, a fort and an Anglican cathedral were constructed. Most of them now being renovated.
In fact, Stone Town today is caught in a landslide (metaphorically), with reconstruction very much the measure of the moment.
I’m told that in the Spice Island’s unyielding climate, the half-life of buildings is just a few months. It turns out coral stone, although plentiful, rapidly becomes friable and starts to crumble like chalk. And Stone Town’s second most abundant building material, wood, fares little better in the heat and humidity. Some houses are but a little silhouetto of their former glory. So, you can imagine what state most of the centuries old town is in.
Never mind, the gradual disintegration lends the place authentic imperfection, enhancing its mystique.

Sunshine hitting the warren
Almost all of Stone Town’s ‘sights’ were closed for major works when I was there. But that barely mattered, as so much of the town’s appeal lies in its warrens, courtyards and doors. If you’ve been to Galle, Marrakech, Syracuse, Havana, or even Mdina, then aspects of Stone Town will feel familiar, albeit several thousand miles and multiple cultures apart.

Mansions and mashrabiya
The feeling of being at one of the world’s crossroads is palpable. Put on the map by the Ancient Greeks, built by the Portuguese, occupied by the Omanis, enriched by the Indians, ‘protected’ by the British, liberated by socialist Zanzibaris and currently being rebuilt by, amongst others, the Aga Khan, Stone Town truly lives up to the term ‘melting pot’.
Melting and pots being two things you’ll experience plenty of, as you wander around.
Amidst this cultural casserole was the shortest war in history. The Anglo-Zanzibar War of 1896 consisted of just 45 minutes of heavy bombardment by the British Navy, before the governing Sultan of Oman promptly surrendered.
While that might sound quaint, the politics surrounding Stone Town’s current day restoration are spicy. On the one hand there’s foreign funding, the blandification
of 5 star hotel brands, and the curse of fly and flop tourism. On the other, there’s the sensibilities of the orthodox Shia, Sunni and Swahili population, a UNESCO listing, and the protestations of those passionate about Zanzibar’s vivid heritage. At the crossroads sits the town’s crumbling fabric and more importantly, its enduring character. It's a battle between capitalism and charisma that's balanced on a knife edge.
At the moment, the foreign money looks to have the upper hand. Stroll around Stone Town today and you’re as likely to encounter breeze blocks, boutique projects and builders’ rubble as mosques, medinas and minarets.
But the narrow alleys hold untold reserves of historic charm. All those Moorish mansions, mashrabiya and men on street corners playing Mancala.
The contrast plays out perfectly in the choice of hotel. You have somewhere like The Neela. A recent, top to toe restoration in obligatory boutiquey beige and trendy taupe. Rooftop bar and lounge, rain shower heads, freestanding baths, cashmere scatter cushions, ‘curated mini-bars’. You know the kind of place.
Designer perfect.

Enticing glimpse
Then there’s The Emerson on Hurumzi. Just as palatial, but in the distinctly ‘faded grandeur’ vernacular. Rattly four posters, faded turquoise and peacock green walls, sky high ceilings, seen-it-all tadelakt, rickety shutters doubling as air conditioning, exhausted looking sofas perfect for slumping in. The kind of character you can’t just conjure up. And I loved it.

That blue!
My suite was a vast corner room with a staircase right down the centre, leading up through an opening in the ceiling onto my own private tower. Cocooned terrace, daybed, 180° rooftop and sea views.
Was this the real life? Was it just fantasy? Any way the wind blew, didn’t really matter to me.
... to me. OK, that’s not strictly true. There was plenty of (very welcome) sea breeze, turning my attempts to paint and collage the view into something more resembling a ticker tape parade on the streets below.
As it happens, Stone Town's streets aren’t nearly as colourful, in the chromatic sense, as you might imagine. An ultra-conservative local edict mandates all new and restored buildings be rendered white. Even though close scrutiny of older buildings shows many had been various vivid blues, ochres, yellows, and the like, albeit most now faded to the merest trace.
But there’s colour galore in the cultural interest sense. A continuous parade of traditional hijabs, niqaabs and vibrant Swahili kanga winds through the streets. In shops lining every alley, dresses and tote bags made of hypnotically patterned East African fabrics compete for passing tourists’ eyeballs and shillings. If you’re in the market for outlandish pattern, the shopping potential here is Dolce & Gabbana-tastic.
And then of course there are the Zanzibar’s famous doors. Huge, heavy, ornate and intricate, in dark tones of teak or mahogany, or once-intense blue, half decayed yet wholly distinguished, or else recently replaced and resplendent in fresh, faintly orange stain.
Mamma Mia, they are masterpieces of narrative, verse and storytelling. Like everything in Stone Town, they evoke cultural crossroads and trading wealth. Swahili, Arab, Persian, and Indian influences abound, with lotus leaves, rosettes, pineapples and curvaceous flourishes, alongside strict geometric patterns, Islamic calligraphy, rigid rectangularity and chains, (we’ll link back to those shortly).
Like artworks in a gallery, the door’s frames are often the most ornate element. The round, radius topped ones signify Indian influence, whereas the straight tops indicate Omani origins, often with carved verses from the Qur’an running

An open dooe
along the top. Many doors also boast magnificent brass spikes, originally deployed in India to deter charging war elephants. Without much call for that here, these are pure decorative door jewellery.

Just a squeeze of lime
No escape from reality. These are not mere doors but unvarnished status symbols.
Tantalisingly, most remain resolutely shut. Glimpses of what splendour lies beyond are rare, so the imagination must work overtime.
Never mind, the way to feel on the inside and at the heart of Stone Town’s magic is to dine in one of its Tea Rooms. There’s one perched atop each of the two Emerson hotels. The experience of ascending above the roofline to sundown over the panorama of the town, as it descends into dusk, is beyond atmospheric. Decorative lattice, ornate cushions, a waft of spice, orange glow to the west, twinkling lights to the east, maybe thunderbolts and lightening if you’re lucky, and the chink of ice in a glass. It was enough to send shivers down my spine. And body aching all the time - although romantic, maybe best to avoid the Swahili style cushion seating?!
At the precise instant your second, lethal Swahili Martini arrives, a piercing warning siren sounds out across the whole town. This is actually to notify government employees the working day is now over. And it’s shortly followed by that most evocative of sounds; the call to prayer. It relays around the rooftops, each cry amplified by another, and another. Each quite different, each equally insistent.
To the less fervent, this is actually the call to dine. And course after course of locally influenced, world class food proceeds. In particular, The Tea Room at Emerson Spice delighted and entranced, with fragrant dishes cooked on open coals, right there on the rooftop. The next morning, I could still taste the faint flavour of cinnamon smoke that had gently infused my tuna.
On a less savoury note, let’s not forget that all that trading wealth was built substantially on slavery. Zanzibar wasn’t alone, but it was the last to abolish it. And the malice and shame are made plain at the East Africa Slave Trade Exhibition and Slave Chambers. I was particularly struck by its depiction of the dignity and resolve of the exploited, in marked contrast to the inhumanity of the exploiters. In an interview I gave at the site (video below) I expressed profound concern that even nowadays we’re not spared from this monstrosity, even in the so-called developed world.
Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you cry.

Purple haze

Authentic imperfection
Also, disappointingly, the derivation of Zanzibar is ‘black coast’, referring to the faces the Omanis saw as they came and conquered. In retrospect, I now prefer the gentler name Ungula, whose precise origins are unknown.
Of course, many of us from the developed world are attracted by the allure of Zanzibar’s paradise coast, and the promise of being able to carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters. Funnily enough, indulgent though that is, it doesn’t completely meet my criteria for a good dally. I find a hard day of aimless exploring and intense painting in Stone Town’s dusty streets far more relaxing and rewarding. That way, time races by, yet after the event feels extensive and jam packed, yielding lasting souvenirs. The exact opposite of the fly and flop experience, in fact.
Nevertheless, I did venture out of Stone Town to hit the beaches for a couple of days. Purely out of a sense of duty. And because I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low.
It was exactly the paradise you are probably picturing right now. Although, to be honest, you could have been lounging in any Bounty bar commercial on any paradise island in many other parts of the world. Not that there’s much wrong with that.

Speaking of confectionary bars, you may remember Karibu? A less well known, and now sadly unavailable, confection. “Karibu” is also the welcome you hear sung out to you across Zanzibar, along with a heartfelt “Jambo!”. I found the warmth and sincerity of the people powerful and infectious. Ranking second, only behind Sri Lanka, on my highly subjective worldwide warmth index.
So, Stone Town welcomed me back like an old friend. Its warrens embraced me. Its crumbling past enchanted me. Its cultural hot pot excited me. But its precarious state of transition concerned me.
In summary: It’ll be good when it’s finished.
But, will it be finished once it’s made good?
Either way, I strongly suspect the lure will not let me go
If I’m not back again this time tomorrow, I will be pretty soon. Eager to see if Stone Town’s gone and thrown it all away.
Any way the wind blowssssss …. boooooshhhhh.

Art or accident?





A Few Links and Practicalities
(Just sharing the love. I absolutely don’t get paid for these.)
No direct flights from London, I’m afraid. I flew out via Doha and back through Nairobi. Better than the choppy ferry from Dar Es Salaam, I reckon.
Emerson Spice
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. But my budget wouldn’t stretch to a suite at this place. Even, and especially if, you don’t stay here, you must take dinner at their Tea Rooms. It’s an experience I can still taste. Also, their half renovated, half ramshackle Secret Garden is a supremely atmospheric (and popular) spot, for lunch in particular.
Emerson on Hurumzi
I've already raved about this place. Not quite the street appeal of Emerson Spice, but all the character for half the price. Either Tour Suite or Keep Suite will see you right. Although they’re doing up rooms all the time and I can’t wait to see them. Their Tea Room experience is different enough from Spice’s to justify doing both!
Other than that, you’ll find other good places to stay, but I go for charisma over gloss any day.
The Old Dispensary. Along the seafront near the ferry terminal you’ll find the most magnificent balconies in Stone Town.
The Beach House and the rooftop at Africa House Hotel are also good for sunset.
Harbour Kitchen. Not actually near the harbour, but a near perfect curry.
As well as a visa, you now need to purchase ‘Mandatory Travel Insurance’ to visit Zanzibar. It’s only with the Zanzibar Insurance Corporation (ZIC), and irrespective of whether you already have another policy in place. Bit of an inside job if you ask me. I had to join a queue of people at the airport getting their credit cards out. Maybe save on not taking out your own travel insurance. And save time by buying your ZIC cover before you fly.

























Don’t miss;
Just wandering. You’ll no doubt be sold guided tours, which are great, but your own two feet are your best tour guide.
$8 for the Freddie Mercury museum is a real test of your fan commitment. But Mercury House where he grew up, is free if you manage to find it. Nothing much to see there, but you can’t beat a spot of Queen’s Greatest Hits on your headphones as you take it all in.
Did I mention the Tea Rooms?